


an empty loving kingdom

by TheFlirtMeister



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Disguise, F/M, Kisses, SanSan Secret Santa, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, The Quiet Isle, oh my god i just want them to fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlirtMeister/pseuds/TheFlirtMeister
Summary: Sansa Stark travels to The Quiet Isle to find The Hound and bring him home.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	an empty loving kingdom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuchaHag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuchaHag/gifts).



> Merry Crimbo!
> 
> Prompt: Gift from the Quiet Isle

_I heard The Hound still lives._

Sansa felt bad to be deceiving the septry as she settled into the women’s cottage for the night, especially those as devout as the Brothers. They had even fully accepted that the Queen of the North was here for diplomatic reasons, despite evidence to the contrary.

Well, she supposed she was here for a diplomatic reason. She was here to negotiate.

They had crossed over in a ferry to the Quiet Isle, Sansa trying not to be sick over the side of the boat, and Brienne telling her about the latest training sessions in Winterfell. Brienne was sporting a nasty cut across her cheek, from where practise fighting with Arya had gotten a little rough.

“You shouldn’t let her hurt you.” Sansa had told her, and Brienne had snorted.

“I’m not attempting to keep my beauty milady. Besides, I like training with your sister.”

Sansa had shaken her head. Living with Arya was like living with a feral kitten, and no matter how hard Sansa tried, she couldn’t domesticate her. Twice she had attempted to leave her chambers in the middle of the night to go for a walk to clear her head, and Arya had sprung out of the shadows and attacked her.

Still, better a sister than no sister at all.

The Quiet Isle was interesting, even though Sansa’s stomach churned at the thought of her actual reason for being there. They had been taken around the isle by Brother Narbert, who showed them the animals, crops, and garden. There was a dog, named Dog, who followed Sansa around, and licked her fingers when she dropped her hand.

“Do they not feed you enough?” Sansa asked Dog, who barked happily at being spoken to.

“He is fed salt mutton.” Brother Narbert replied. “Better than some men.”

Dog wagged his tail at the mention of food and sat heavily on Sansa’s foot.

Narbert had taken Sansa to pray at the sept, and Sansa had knelt at the front with Brienne and some other women who were staying on the island. She wondered if they were praying for the safety of their unborn children, or husbands missing at sea. She felt guilty praying for the man she wished to seek.

At last it was night fall, and Sansa was taken to the women’s cottages to rest. The room was shaped like a beehive, with furs on the bed and a small fire in the centre of the floor. Brienne was on guard outside the door on guard duty, and Sansa felt safer for her being there.

The Quiet Isle was freezing cold at night. Sansa thought that if she started to cry, her tears would freeze on her own face like jewels. It’s such a fairy-tale idea that Sansa almost scolded herself for it.

Sansa almost wished she was in Winterfell, under the covers with Arya or Bran. There was no greater heat source than a younger sibling, Arya kicking her in her sleep, hot breath against her neck, or Bran muttering sleepy nonsense, his eyelashes fluttering as he dreams. Sansa knows they’re all too old to share a bed, but sometimes there is nothing else to do but gather them all up close.

At least with this weather, her plan will work perfectly.

She hopped out of the bed, gathering the furs around her, and carefully pushed open the door to the cottage. Brienne raised her head and blinked at Sansa’s sudden appearance.

“Milady?”

“Can you ask for more firewood?” Sansa enquired. “I wish to build a stronger fire.”

Brienne tilted her head to one side. “The room will get awful smoky.”

“I’ll survive.” Sansa says, and shivered. “Please.”

Brienne pushed herself off the cottage wall, and then slid her sword from her scabbard, offering it to Sansa for taking. Sansa gripped the handle tightly, practically hearing Arya’s laughter in her head at her failed attempt at swordsmanship.

“You won’t need it.” Brienne promised her. “But just in case.”

Sansa nodded, and carefully went back inside the cottage, shutting the door behind her. She sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding onto Brienne’s sword. She felt very foolish, but if anyone did try to attack her, she had the slightest chance.

With the sharp edge of the sword she wrote her full name across the dirt floor, knowing she could scuff it out later. She was just getting started on a drawing of a direwolf with a smiley face when the door opened, and the Gravedigger entered, holding armfuls of firewood. Brienne followed, and Sansa swallowed hard.

“Thank you.” She said.

“Would you like me to stay with you?” Brienne asked.

“I’m sure I’ll be alright.” Sansa promised, but held on tight to the sword. “You may retake your post.”

The Gravedigger made a snorting noise, and Sansa glanced at him. His face was covered with a cloth, but she could see his eyes, one brown, one scarred.

Brienne nodded and left the cottage, shutting the door quietly behind her. Sansa adjusted her position on the bed as the Gravedigger knelt onto the floor to start building up the fire. He was big as she remembered, imposing, and she bit her lip at the memory of Blackwater.

 _You were kind to me when I was a stupid girl_ , she thought. _Will you be as kind now when I am a woman?_

“I didn’t think it would be this cold.” She said to the Gravedigger. “Having grown up in Winterfell.”

He did not reply but continued building up the fire.

“But then I suppose I was taken to King’s Landing as a young girl.” Sansa continued. “I changed there.”

A log tumbled onto the dirt floor and was quickly snatched up by the Gravedigger. Sansa leant forward, the sword still in her hand.

“I suffered.” She told him. “I wished for death.”

The Gravedigger made a low growling noise at the back of his throat. Sansa wanted to reach out, place her hand against his back to soothe him, but bide herself.

“Someone kept me sane.” Sansa said. “Someone helped me.”

The logs on the fire began to smoulder. The Gravedigger pushed himself upright, kicking at the wood until Sansa could hear the crackling. She could feel the slight warmth at her feet and curled her toes inside her slippers.

“I owe them a debt.” She said.

Sansa stands before the Gravedigger could make his next move, still holding the sword in her hand. The room was silent apart from the fire’s whisper. Sansa stared up into the Gravedigger’s face and swallowed hard.

“What do you want-“ The Gravedigger asked in a hoarse voice, and Sansa rose on her tiptoes quickly to kiss the cloth where his mouth must be.

It’s brief, as brief as Blackwater, and the Gravedigger pushed her away hard. She stumbled, grabbing hold of the cloth around his face to steady herself, but he yanked her hand away. She ended up on the floor with a thump, wincing with shock as the pain shot up her body. The sword clattered onto the floor, useless.

Sansa looked up at Sandor Clegane and glared.

“You stupid idiot.” Sandor snarled, and Sansa jutted her chin at him.

“You don’t frighten me anymore.” She said, which was evidentially the wrong thing to say.

Sandor pulled her up from the floor by the wrist, Sansa kicking her heels as she went, and shook her hard. Sansa tried to kick him again, but he twisted her so she couldn’t get at him.

“Idiot little bird.” He snarled, “You came all this way to trick me?”

“This isn’t a trick.” Sansa insisted. “I’m bringing you back with me, to Winterfell.”

“So you can put me on _trial?_ So they can hang me up at the gates as a warning to traitors? _”_ He gave her a hard shake.

“I would never do that.” Sansa swore. “You saved my life.”

“Do you think I don’t know what’s going on, girl?” Sandor said. “You’ve got Brienne of Tarth on the fucking door. She’ll cut me down as soon as breathing.”

“She’s just as a _precaution_.”

“In case of what?” Sandor brought his scarred face close to Sansa, and something in Sansa’s stomach churned, not revulsion, something anxious in pleasure. “In case this ugly dog bites?”

“Maybe I want you to bite me.” Sansa said, meeting his gaze. “I’m a direwolf after all-“

It’s Sandor who kissed her this time, interrupting her sentence. Their teeth clacked together uncomfortably, and Sansa could feel her nose pressed against Sandor’s own. She pulled away, and Sandor chased her mouth to press a punishing kiss there. Sansa gave a small whimper at the back of her throat, pushing herself against Sandor, and he growled.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” He said.

Sansa was breathing fast, unable to take her eyes off his face. He’d released the grip on her wrist, but she was still pressed against him. “I do know what I’m doing.”

“You’re trying to trick me.”

Sansa shook her head. “No trick. I want you to come back with me.”

“And you thought you’d win me over with a kiss?”

“And more.” Sansa said.

Sandor made a slightly strangled noise. “Is this how you treat all your traitors?” He asked.

“I’d give you immunity.”

“You’re more stupid than I thought.” Sandor said, a dark look crossing his features. “I killed your friends.”

“We were in the middle of a war.” Sansa said. “You killed to save the Queen.”

“You make me sound like a Ser.” Sandor spit. “You were just a girl back then.”

“And now I’m grown.” Sansa said. “So kiss me.”

He did. They ended up on the bed, Sansa on her back, Sandor bracketing her body with his own. She squirmed underneath him as he mouthed at her neck, the scrape of stubble against her skin. Her whole body felt hot, and she pressed her legs together at the sparks of pleasure.

“ _Please_.” Sansa begged.

Sandor’s breath was hot against her neck, and she could feel something between his legs that was pushing against her. Sansa was not innocent, but she had never seen a man aroused like this. She wanted him stripped off his gravedigger clothes, naked on the bed before her. She wanted to unwrap him like a gift.

Sansa raised her hand to touch the burnt side of his face, and he hissed, pulling away.

“I don’t want your pity.” Sandor said.

“I’m not.” Sansa said. “I just want to touch you.”

Sandor gave her a look and Sansa felt herself go pink. She touched the side of his face anyway, cautiously at first, but Sandor didn’t yank himself away. She rubbed her thumb against the calloused skin, tracing the scars. She wanted to kiss and bite at him like a wild animal and nipped her own lip to control her thoughts.

Sandor was still watching her with heavy eyes. She pulled him down by the front of his cloak to kiss him again, sighing against his mouth.

“Little Bird.” He said, and Sansa thrust her hips up in response. He gave a rasp of laughter. “You’re like a bitch in heat.”

“And you’re a hound.” She fired back and raised one eyebrow.

“Not anymore.” Sandor said, but pulled down the front of her slip to expose Sansa’s chest.

Sansa’s nipples tightened at the shock of cold air, and Sandor made a noise at the back of his throat that sent shockwaves down Sansa’s body. He dropped his head down to her breast and licked at the nipple with his tongue. Sansa whined, pushing herself against him.

“Calm yourself girl.” Sandor said in a low voice and sucked.

The scrape of his stubble against her skin made her hot all over, and Sansa bit her lip to stop herself crying out as Sandor turned his attention to her other breast. His breath was warm against her, and she felt dizzy knowing a grown man like Sandor wanted her like this.

Sansa wriggled her hand between their two bodies and palmed between Sandor’s legs. For a brief moment, he thrust himself into her hand, and she felt something hot and hard, before Sandor seemed to come to his senses, and sat upright, away from her.

“I can’t fuck the Queen.” Sandor said.

Sansa let out a noise of frustration. “Think of me as Sansa Stark then.”

“I’m not deflowering Sansa fucking Stark either.”

“Then think of me as a whore-“ She didn’t get the rest of the word out before Sandor’s big hand covered her mouth.

“Don’t say that.” Sandor snarled.

Sansa thought about licking his hand, and then realised that she was turning into Arya. Instead she glared and waited for him to remove it. Sandor seemed to be struggling with his own thoughts, and Sansa was quiet.

Finally Sandor removed his hand, and Sansa took the chance to speak.

“Come home with me.” She said. “And then we will just be two people in a castle. Alone.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Sandor snorted.

“It will be easy.” Sansa insisted. “I will make it so.”

Sandor didn’t say anything.

“You can still be my gravedigger?” Sansa offered, and Sandor gave a bark of laughter at that.

“I don’t want to be a fucking gravedigger.” He said.

“Then you can be my faithful hound.” Sansa said. “And protect me.”

Sandor placed his hand against her cheek and brushed her freckles with his thumb. Sansa looked up into his eyes and wished she could see him in Winterfell, with snowflakes caught in his hair.

“Fine.” Sandor said bluntly. “I’ll come back with you. You’ll need protecting if you keep running away on fools’ errands like this one.”

Sansa couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, and Sandor turned away from it, scowling.

“Don’t look like that.”

“I’m happy.” Sansa said and kissed his hand. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Sandor replies, but he didn’t pull away.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment or sandor will come be grumpy nearby and lament about how sansa stark is too much fucking trouble


End file.
